Ten times a year we choose a cover subject at Tennis Magazine. This is the scenario that typically ensues in the days immediately after we go to press: Said cover subject either falls pray to injury right away, or, if he or she is lucky enough to maintain his or her health, the bottom falls out on his or her career over the next few weeks. By Murphy’s Law, as well as the grand tradition of the Sports Illustrated kiss of death, this is all to be expected. What’s strange is that, as often as not, by the time the issue actually reaches newsstands five weeks later, said cover subject has revived his or her career to the point where it kind of looks like we knew what we were doing all along. In the last year, this is how it went with covers featuring Gael Monfils and Melanie Oudin. Of course, there are the times when we aren't quite so lucky and a completely unforeseen disaster strikes. A couple of days after the 2009 Australian Open men’s final, in which Roger Federer ignominiously served his way to defeat at the hands of Rafael Nadal, we came out with a cover featuring Federer under the bright, shining headline, “Serve Smart.”
What I’m trying to say is that the fates of pro tennis players are unpredictable. Not just over the long term, but, because they play so often, from month to month, week to week, set to set. We’re talking about a sport where two unforced errors in a row is all it takes for you to lose your momentum, your confidence, your cool, maybe even your sense of security about your financial future.
So in a way, the developments of the last week involving Juan Martin del Potro and Ana Ivanovic shouldn’t be all that surprising, even though, as the season began, you would never have believed that by May del Potro would be in the dumps and Ivanovic tentatively rising again. Tennis certainly didn’t: The cover of our January issue this year featured this line, in bold letters: “Juan Martin del Potro: What’s Next for the Game’s New Star.” Somehow, we never predicted wrist surgery.
I like both of these players, for their games and their personalities. It was satisfying to see a young guy like del Potro develop his competitive skills with each major tournament last year, and grow in surprising ways right before our eyes. By the end of the season, he’d revealed what those around him seemed to have known all along: He has the mentality—the stubborn will—of a winner, of a guy who might doubt himself at the beginning of a match, but won’t get caught thinking that way at the end. Even at the top of the sport, it’s rare to see that level of drive and resourcefulness, one that won’t bow to anyone, tied to a world-class game. It wasn’t necessarily obvious, from looking at del Potro, that he had it. The Argentine’s emotions and willfulness are buried deep, and they reveal themselves slowly; but like, say, a similarly deep and emotional champion like Steffi Graf, that only makes them more powerful—he's the closest thing to a tank in tennis. At some level, the reports that del Potro is depressed these days have to be true. You know he’ll feel the loss and frustration of this season, of having his career interrupted at such an inopportune moment. Hell, the times that I’ve been injured and away from the game for a few months have been extremely depressing. All I could think of to do was go shopping. (Shudder, shudder)
I can relate to del Potro, and, as I’ve written here before, I can also relate to Ivanovic, both in her inability to hit a specific stroke, and the total loss of confidence that comes with it. When I competed for real, I went through periods where it felt like I was finding a way to lose, that even if I played well for a few games, or a set, in the back of my mind I was waiting for the truth to come out. The truth being that I couldn’t win a tennis match. Are you surprised that I didn’t win a whole lot of matches with this mindset?
Watching Ivanovic this year, I recognized similar signs in her attitude. If something went wrong in the first game, she was quick to pull her visor down over her eyes in embarrassment and anxiety, as if to say, “I knew this was going to happen,” or “I know what’s coming, and I can’t look.” It’s a terrible feeling to believe that you can’t win. When I’m in that state, the beginning of a match can feel like I'm standing at the bottom of a mountain, with no clue where to start climbing. Errors confirm the truth about yourself, good shots seem like pathetic mirages, delays before the inevitable.
Does this sound overly dramatic, or a little depressing? I’d say it’s the nature of tennis. If your basketball team or baseball team or soccer team is losing, there’s some distance between that failure and yourself. It’s not fun, and it will get to you, but it’s a little like your company not doing well. You may not be good at your job, but it’s still a job, it’s not you. That distance doesn’t exist in tennis. The sport is you.
Today Ivanovic’s run of strong play in Rome ended in the semifinals. Over the course of the week, she’d gone from giddy in victory to quietly satisfied, as if she was beginning to expect to win again. The upside of the personal nature of tennis is that it doesn’t take long for you to start thinking good things about yourself, just like it doesn’t take long to believe the worst. It’s an intensified and compacted version of the swings—from joy to despair and every irrational point in between—that we all go through in our heads each day.
Near the end of her match, Ivanovic did a brief visor clutch after a lost point. The despair had, for the moment, returned. That’s what you get when you’re brave enough to play a sport where you’re never more than two points from changing your entire opinion about yourself. In tennis, you're always poised, hanging, dangling—two points from hope, two points from doom. You never know which way you're going to go.
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On that note, have a good weekend. I’m going to count my blessings that I don’t play professional tennis for a living.